3 Reasons Why Buying Your First House Sucks

Here's the setting: You haven’t slept in days. You’re an asshole to everyone. The interns at the architecture firm that built your apartment have opted to skimp on wall thickness and, you know, making sure the fucking bedrooms from one unit to the next aren’t butted right up against one another in favor of putting a granite counter top on the built-in computer desk that never once got used in three years for anything other than storing phone books that never got opened. The neighbors fuck from dusk to dawn and howl like hyenas circling a corpse. Oh, and they also fuck from dawn to dusk on days divisible by 1. Oh, and when you confront the rabid animals, they threaten to forcibly make you part of … whatever the hell that was. At this very frightening moment, the idea of renting has sort of gotten old, and buying your own house seems not only like a good idea, but the only way to avoid getting bummed/fisted by a duo with a combined height of 13 feet. Not so fast, because…

1. They Will Sell Your Information to Absolutely Everyone

From the moment you sign the mountain of paperwork and take the keys, the clock starts ticking. Set your phone on the ground next to a stopwatch and watch in amazement at how little time it takes for that fucker to blow completely off the hook.

The first onslaught is from the security companies. These people do a very good job at making you feel like you moved in to the shittiest neighborhood in the galaxy, and that the only way to avoid getting shot in the face by one of the many gangs in the neighborhood is to buy their Premium Gold-Plated Platinum Wipe-Your-Ass package. Just wait until you can finally fit a word in edge-wise to tell them no. Holy fuck. You will think you have just told them their children are ugly or that their mother was a whore. They get so bent that they send people over to council you on why you would want to jeopardize your life by not buying their product. Try closing the door on these fucking characters. They will peer into your window, shouting through the glass at how you can receive “free upgrades” or “I won’t stab you if you sign up now.”

And for only $19.95, I won't stab you later either.

Next come the phone, Internet and TV people. These people are less pushy, but have more material to send your way. These things include political ad-like jabs from one provider to the next, fliers with people’s hair blowing backwards at the AMAZING NEW (fill in the blank service), and coupons featuring ONCE IN A FUCKING LIFETIME DEALS!!! Of course, all of these efforts are moot because you likely just transferred services from your last place, which, by the way, just had the wall broken down when the neighbors fucked themselves right through it without missing a beat. What sucks about this wave of solicitations is if you decide to get a home phone. Antiquated, I know, but it seemed like a good idea because of the what-ifs. Whoever our home phone provider is (Q followed by a direction on a compass) took our new phone number, printed it on a bunch of little bits of paper with the heading “These people probably have money”, and dropped them from a zeppelin right over a crater in Hell where all the telemarketers work. The phone never, ever stops ringing. When there actually is an actual human with an actual soul on the other end, I am usually so bent from all the “May I speak to the head of the household?”’s that I greet them with a warm “Take me off the fucking list!” only to have my mother shudder in horror at the monster her son has become.

I don't even know who you are anymore.

Finally are the weak wave of mail-based campaigns distributed by local dentists and insurance agencies. Every single day the mailbox is loaded with personal greeting cards from people who know me intimately that I have never met. For example: Dear Ron, (or current resident) it’s that time of year again to get your teeth cleaned. Can we expect the pleasure of your visit Ron (or current resident)? How the hell did they know I haven’t been to the dentist? Oh right, because nobody goes to the fucking dentist unless the bleeding in their mouth has spread to their eyes. And by that time, you just skip the dentist and go right to the hospital. Ergo, dentists are useless.

Yeah, I'm looking at the same thing as you. What's the problem?

2. The House Immediately Disintegrates the Moment You Are Given the Keys

You’ve toured every home in the city. You’re tired, cranky and starting not to care where you find a house as long as you find a house fucking soon. Every single house has been ugly or has been graffiti’d or has shit in every toilet in the house (bad way to get people interested in your house if you’re selling, by the way). Time is running out in the day. You’re ready to raise the white flag, when, suddenly, it appears. The neighbors wave. There are no automobiles in anyone’s front lawn for blocks. The paint is exactly the shade you envisioned in your dream of dreams. It’s perfect! And you haven’t even been inside yet. 10 minutes into the tour, you are mentally placing furniture and repainting rooms. And, yeah, the price is a touch higher than you wanted to pay, but have you seen this kitchen??? Fast-forward to closing day, aka the biggest day of your life. Blah fucking blah, just tell me where to fucking sign so I can get the fucking keys to my fucking house right fucking now, COME ON! Fast-forward again to turning the key and opening the door.

“Did you notice that enormous stain in the carpet when we toured? And what the fuck is that smell? Was the paint this same color? I think the paint is different. And what happened to the kitchen? It was so big and, you know, not ugly as sin. I think I should call someone. I need to get this figured out straight away.” Put the phone down. Don’t waste your breath. The bastards are already in Mexico on your dime. So you move in and you start getting settled little by little. On day four the toilet breaks, but you have another one down the hall… whatever. Day 15, a woodpecker drills right through the wall and into your brain, but walls are easy fix and you were stupid anyway… whatever. This shit keeps piling up and up until the pristine house you toured only a month ago looks just like a Before picture from any show on HGTV. Remember the apartment? Some guy in a shirt came to fix your toilet and your brain there. He’s the one that got to go get frustrated at Home Depot because nobody that works there knows a god damn thing about anything even remotely related to working on homes. All the while, you got to kick back and listen to people fucking while enjoying a tall glass of Everclear. And guess what else? You pay more now than you did then. Much more.

This cozy 2b 2ba has a rustic log cabin feel. Move aside the dead hooker to access the crawl space.

3. Your Friends Will Think You’re a Douche. They Will Be Correct.

Since I have never had children, I can’t really say if the two are the same, but I know that everyone who has recently had a kid is a total douche. All they ever talk about is their kid and all the shit their kid did today. “Dude, what the fuck happened to you? We used to throw rocks at shit and play Xbox.” So when I bought a house, I had no idea that nobody would give a shit about it. Yeah, people are “happy” for you and they “like the paint colors” but they really don’t give a shit.

This is actually the look you will get, sans the honest comment.

This won’t sit well with you. After all, this is the biggest decision and commitment you’ve ever made in your life. And not only that, there’s a bench in the garage for when I grow into a real man! Start talking about your garage to someone at a party and time how fast it takes them to tell you they need to take a piss. It’s like 25 seconds tops. So, just like those proud, douchey parents, you will keep trying to ram your hilarious house anecdotes down your friends’ throats and they will stop returning your calls.

Just wait though, because yours is coming. Soon, your stupid friends who, for some reason, couldn’t appreciate the hilarity of incorrect air filter sizes will come running to you with questions and hilarious house stories of their own. Strangely, though, when they tell you about their house stories, the stories always suck and you will almost always have to take a piss like right away.

So, if you’re thinking of leaving that nice, plush apartment, all I can do is grab you by your fat stupid face and say Don't you say that. Don't you ever say that. Stay here. Stay here as long as you can. For the love of God, cherish it. You have to cherish it.

This fat little prick probably rents an upscale flat on Central Park, paid for solely by this fucking scene.